Tag: humor

Chef

by LuckyPilgrim, posted in mindfulness, Uncategorized

I’ve learned a lot from watching cooking shows. More than simply how to cook, that is. There are so many reasons I’m drawn to them. I enjoy watching people use their hands. Most especially to create or build or fix or heal. All four of which are a part of preparing a good meal.

Great chefs understand that cooking is soul work. Sure, there are some ornery bastards. Some colossal egos. Tempers flare. I’ve never known any creative area where these issues didn’t arise. More often, what amazes me about the community of chefs is the way they collaborate. And while they may be highly critical, most also seem willing to submit their own cooking to the same scrutiny.

Cooking is hard work; busy, relentless, and consuming. You have to maintain your health, keep your energy levels high, and commit your whole self to the process.

Master chefs have a devotion to growth, learning, experimentation, and change. They fail and head right back to the pantry. It seems that each of them had a devastating setback in their lives; a fire, cancer, bankruptcy, a second fire; and yet, they persist. In fact, most chefs mark these traumatic events, that might have taken the heart of others, as a catalyst for transformation. You could say that they discovered their unique genius only after, or because of, a personal catastrophe.

Lately, an acute attention and appreciation for the local environment play a key role in fine cuisine. I deeply admire the move to incorporate not only local farms and produce, but to explore and forage, with respect and restraint, our seas, meadows, and forests. The artistry with which they incorporate these natural elements is, often times, astonishing. It also strikes me as ancient and witchy.

Cooking is an intriguing mix of science, art, skill, and attention. An alchemy of the senses. But, a crucial, though often unnamed component of cooking is time. Time and I are often at odds. Usually this is when I am ruminating on the past, or anxious about the future, or freaking out because it is passing so doggone quickly. Never is this more apparent than when I try to make an egg. I know first hand why this is the magical test of most chefs. You have to have ALLLLL your shit together to prepare a proper egg. And then it is a focused dance for the following three minutes or so. Artists create egg dishes with effortless elegance and keep a tidy kitchen, to boot. Not so in my kitchen.

The Zen Buddhist nun, Jeong Kwan, uses time expertly in preparing her temple food. Kimchi is created and harvested precisely when most nutritious and delicious. She plans and prepares healing vegan meals according to the seasons and cycles of her temple surroundings.  She then presents them with exquisite artistry.  We could all learn from her generous, humble offering.

In one way or another, I see great chefs as examples of mindful living. They are beholden to the gifts bestowed in their home place and as interpreted through the work of their senses, imagination, and hands. This is a calling. A calling that all of us have the opportunity to answer and practice on a daily basis. We can demonstrate our love for others and this beautiful, bountiful world by cooking healthy, tasty, well planned and attentively prepared food.

Chef
One of my favorite chefs as photographed by: John Hardwick

Wormland

by LuckyPilgrim, posted in Uncategorized
27891858370_fc931d7ce5_k
Photo by: MagsblackDetroit

Let me be clear, I wanted, still want, most of my spiritual teachers to be women. Preferably women who lived lives of struggle and significance and came out the other side with something to tell about. And indeed many of the finest writings, the most significant stories, that get to deepest places of my soul are by these powerful women. I’ve long resented the lesser role women have in religious life and the fact that there are so few who enjoy the spiritual gravitas bestowed on men. Lots of men. So, it was with great reluctance that Stephan Pende Wormland, a white guy, a German no less, Tibetan Buddhist former monk, found his way into my heart.

I am not a Tibetan Buddhist. Despite this statement, The Dali Lama has provided me with the closest definition of my abiding philosophy,  “Loving kindness is my religion.” It is that simple and that difficult.

But back to Mr. Wormland and why and how he became a force in my life even though I never met him and was conflicted about his maleness, his German heritage, and his patriarchal religious affiliation.  I learned of him through the Insight Meditation Timer App which I highly recommend. I liked his guided meditation so much that I decided to look him up online. Turns out, he offers his teachings and guided meditations for free all over the web. You can listen and download them on SoundCloud. Or, why not sit in on retreat on YouTube? Mindful Dreaming makes a great jumping off spot.

Life is full of surprises. These disruptions can be our greatest instructors. Many experiences, many people, many moments, will go into the distillation of my true self. And so I have learned, it is good to examine my biases and open up.

Full disclosure, I am not disciplined enough to watch or listen to everything Stephan Pende Wormland offers. But, I return to his guided meditations regularly. There is something about his pacing, his voice, and his use of imagery and metaphor that resonates. Like most Tibetan Buddhists I’ve met, he has a great sense of humor too. The clarity of the audio makes you feel as if you are in his retreat loft in Copenhagen.  Actually, I don’t know if he has a loft but I imagine the space to be large and open and several floors up from the street. So that, in the silent spaces between words you hear the canals, the footfalls, and church bells in the distance.

Note

by LuckyPilgrim, posted in Uncategorized

2258871268

…to my younger self

Your life will turn out nothing like you planned. Yet it will be grander than you ever imagined. You will love well and be loved better.

It is true that everything your heart desires lies on the other side of fear. Inside that fear is lost power you will reclaim when you face it, beautiful and brave. Make it so.

Don’t give a tiny rat’s behind what anyone else thinks or says about you. It is wasted time and energy on something you cannot control.

I forgive you for everything. Even the stuff you never told anyone but the dark.

Trust your guts! Nurture your instincts. They will save you from some very sketchy situations..

Study Kung Fu instead of learning to smoke. This is a no brainer.

Listen.

The greatest love of your life will come as a total surprise. She will be your best friend and greatest teacher. Yes, that is right, she, not he. You are queer. But then, if you listened to your guts, you knew that.

I know you worry about putting your parents through a spiritual crisis by coming out. Come out anyway. They survive. Loving you for your entire self, activates them to become warriors for peace, justice, and diversity. The pain from which you all emerge transforms into meaningful work, lasting friendships, and the spreading of light to countless other families.

The most profound moments of your life will unfold in solitude.

You are worthy. Don’t overcompensate. Your faults and frailties are no worse than anyone else’s. Do your best to replace the words “I’m sorry…” with “Thank you for…”  wherever and whenever you can remember.

Keep writing. Burn what doesn’t work. Burn what does. It is the process that matters.

Travel.

Whatever worries or expectations you have, let them go. You will live the most ridiculously lucky, rich life full of love and laughter and pleasures and meaningful work and stories and poems and music and good souls. While I am age 51 writing this to you, which probably seems ancient to you, I hope I am only at the midpoint of this existence. But, even if today is our last, we can drop this body, release this awareness, and know we were blessed.

Endless

by LuckyPilgrim, posted in Uncategorized
IMG_1781
Photo by MagsBlackDetroit

When discussing the fate of the world recently I made the statement that human beings will never run out of problems. I think my friends mistook this for a negative Nelly, Eeyore-esque  moment when in actuality, I meant it rather hopefully. Problems are problems. They aren’t good or bad. They are puzzles. Conundrums. Challenges. Reasons to grow.

Deepak Chopra describes happiness as “Divine discontent.” If you haven’t viewed his Metaphysical Milkshake Soul Pancake interview with Raine Wilson, you simply must. It’s deep and hilarious! The gist of his very succinct wisdom-pearl is that as long as we have discontent and the creative impulse we will be happy. Seeking, building, creating, solving problems are crucial to our vitality. Without them, bliss becomes feckless lunacy. Now don’t get me wrong, I am all for feckless lunacy but only in moderation.

There is another video circulating now with a Rabbi talking about lobsters. Is that kosher? Anyway, he says that the lobsters grow because of discomfort. It becomes uncomfortable in it’s shell. It hides under rocks, loses the old shell, and grows a new and larger one. The basic parable here is without pain and discomfort no one grows.

In race relations and diversity work, all of my mentors espouse the philosophy that you must get comfortable being uncomfortable. The only way to bridge our differences is to jump into the mess and start to dogpaddle.

I do believe the world is getting better, even if we still have a looooong way to go and the pendulum has recently begun to swing erratically. Personally, I wouldn’t want to live in any other time in human history no matter how pretty the dresses were.

Problems and solutions are in a perpetual spiral dance. Answers beget new and different questions. This is the cycle in which awareness evolves. And I do believe consciousness is expanding despite the current state of world affairs. This is not to deny that great sorrows exist. Unfathomable tragedies. Dark forces. But, that alongside those things, or even, perhaps within them, great works of heart and mind are also happening. Heroic sacrifices. Sisyphean efforts. Great awakenings of the everyperson’s Jedi nature.

Really, I am more like Pooh and less like Eeyore: Ever in search of honey. In love with our hundred acre wood. Trusting in the kindness and ingenuity of friends to overcome today’s pickles and predicaments.

We will survive this episode. Just as we have overcome every snafu throughout human history. And then new problems will come along. The band plays on. The dance of divine discontent continues. Hopefully.

IMG_1767
Photo by MagsblackDetroit

Spring

by LuckyPilgrim, posted in Uncategorized
mags-up-close_13984906639_o
Photo by: MagsBlackDetroit

For some folks it’s Passover. Others Easter.  For us, it’s porch sittin’ time.

Spring is here! Along with hopeful buds. Healing blossoms. Green, green grass and dandelions. No wonder the collective fervor.

And yet there is so much sorrow as well. Terror. Atrocities. Big men. Big egos. Bigger evil. Conflicts so ancient and twisted and complex I don’t know what to think anymore. How to help? And then there are the soul crushing issues in my own row to hoe. Prayer isn’t enough. I must DO something. But what?

My heart is so small
It’s almost invisible.
How can you place such big sorrows in it?
Look, He answered.
Your eyes are even smaller.
Yet they behold the world.
                    ~Rumi

Look. The goodness of this Earth is everywhere evident. Daffodils emerge from the thaw and offer their sunny vision.

Everything is everything. This winter was bleak. Days of gray on gray on gray. Ironically, it was not a good winter for snowflakes. Those of us left of a bleeding heart must hold our anxieties. Trust that the goodness of humankind will win out over the worst in our nature. Remind ourselves that while we are the same species responsible for creating the circumstances that put us within a psychopath’s whim of world annihilation, we also invented macaroni and cheese. It is difficult to fathom that people are capable of composing symphonies, devoting their lives or laying them down for others, and also crimes of war, crimes of privilege, rape. We produced Hitler and every despot compared to him. But Mother Teresa also walked amongst our ranks. Both wolves live inside us. Actually, an entire pack. Our choices of which hungers to feed will determine what results from this interesting time. 

And the outcome is beyond my control. Or yours.

What is in my control is the decision to feed my own wolves gratitude for the first Oberon of the season. To behold what is given. To smell the sweet Spring air. And be glad for the happy heart of my dog stretched on the driveway. Watch the neighbor kid play with his shadow in the rosy hue of sunset against the garage door backdrop. Listen to birds. Glide. Taste: The warming wind. The glowing green. The promise of lilacs.

Practice

by LuckyPilgrim, posted in Uncategorized

6469876953

Technically, I am not a Buddhist. But I like a lot of their teachings. I share the Dali Lama’s core belief that, “Loving Kindness is my Religion.” However, I am profoundly human in my ability to live out that belief. That’s OK. The point is to practice. And I do. Sometimes more adeptly. Mostly, like a beginner.

Good Buddhists follow the Noble Eightfold Path. I think it is an excellent road map but like most religious texts composed long ago, not very practical for today unless you develop a personal interpretation. The Noble Eightfold Path is a sort of less bossy, more complex, Ten Commandments. Except that the Eightfold Path isn’t rules per say. More like habits or skills you practice. Like snowboarding or playing the tuba.

Of the Eight Right things to do on the Noble Path the one that presents the biggest daily challenge for me is Right Speech. We have a history, Right Speech and me. Issues!  I’m a blabber. A bean spiller extraordinaire! What’s more, I tend to embellish, hyperbolize, and add a spicy dash of fiction to my facts.

When teachers talk to parents about kids who are dishonest, we say, “They tell stories.” It’s gentle. “Suzy likes to tell stories.” Instead of, “Suzy will, balls out, lie to your face.” Like Suzy, I am a storyteller. Also a Ballsy liar on occasion. The things that have fallen from my mouth have often returned to drown me in an ocean of shame. They cost. Dearly. And so, I practice Right Speech.

Like any novice, I over compensate. For a long time I felt right speech meant I had to lay bare every bitter truth I encountered. Not realizing that the truth is a tangled mess of Christmas lights.  I over share. Over communicate. Natter. Confess. Enough, you get the picture.

So now, Right Speech is about practicing silence. Listening. Asking myself some hard questions before I speak, type, or text.

Questions like:

  • Why do I want to say this?
  • Will this cause harm to others or myself?
  • How can I say this best?
  • Is this the right time?

As you may have guessed, I only intentionally practice this once or twice a day. And mostly with others I know will be forgiving and patient toward my awkward attempts. The pauses alone are maddening. The false starts and jumbled metaphors, forget about it. In this instance, practice will never make perfect. I’m no monk. But the intention keeps me moving down the path, in my own time, with my own stumbling swagger.

 

Work

by LuckyPilgrim, posted in Uncategorized

I’ve been a lot of things in my life. By that I mean, I’ve worked a lot of jobs. Many of them in the service industry. When I was in high school I helped prepare, serve, and clean up meals for a cast of irascible elders in a nursing home. I also babysat, mowed lawns, and painted houses.

Before that, in middle school, I worked for an Italian priest. Father Nick. He ran the printing presses for several church papers in the local Archdiocese. Way back in the day, a person had to slip sheets of paper in between the newly printed pages so that the ink didn’t smear. It required concentration and rhythm. Fr. Nick hired me for my penmanship. I did some calligraphy and helped layout the publications. Other duties with the Padre involved going with him on various outings and keeping track of Monsignor Hickey. Monsignor Hickey was ancient, tiny, and crazy as a loon. I kept a firm grip on him while Fr. Nick placed bets at the race track. I steered him around Eastern Market while Nick bought the week’s produce for the rectory and convent. We made a wacky trio. Between Fr. Nick’s mischievous, booming presence, Monsignor Hickey’s silent, twinkling eyes, I was an awkward teen-aged girl, a head taller than either of them, along for the ride.

I moved from hostess to waitress to bartender back to waitress when I was in college. I loved the hustle of the restaurant. I loved serving people delicious food and drinks. Despite working at one of the most popular eateries in Chicago, I was always in need of a few extra bucks. So, I would don costumes and sell my dignity by handing out flyers and holding signs for Carson Pirie Scott on the Magnificent Mile. After graduating, I did a very short stint in room service at a high-end hotel in the Chicago Loop. It didn’t end well.

I moved back to Detroit to get out of debt and save money to move to LA. At first I found a job in a china shop. I learned a lot about knick knacks and how not to imitate your boss behind her back. This brought me to the metaphysical bookstore. Suffice it to say that the shop, my coworkers, the owner, and the regular customers, could have been the premise for a great sitcom. I did garner a few useful skills such as reading tarot cards and astrological charts.

When I arrived in Los Angeles I got a job as an interior landscaper which is a fancy pants term for “The plant lady.” I watered green growing things all over the greater LA area. Learning to drive and navigate the City of Angels was a trial by fire. No GPS, just a godforsaken Thomas Guide and a lot of cursing and crying. Once, in a fit of ferocious frustration, I yanked my sun visor completely off the lid of my car. LA is a sunny place. I lived to regret that. While working as a plant lady was for the most part very enjoyable, being utterly invisible to most, or treated as a lesser human domestic, was not. It also gave me a good gander at the nether regions of Hollywood. They stank. The time had come to set aside the actor’s life and find a new career.

I floundered. I took classes. In the meantime, I supported myself by being an office manager for an acupuncturist and Chiropractor. They shared an office and a tremendous amount of animosity. I loved making the herbal tinctures and learning about their healing practices. I hated billing insurance, balancing their dysfunctional mix of personal and business finances, and navigating their growing feud. When the opportunity to move to a Learning Center presented itself, I took it. It was there, I discovered my calling for the next twenty years. Teacher.

Somewhere along the next two decades, teaching stopped being a job and became a part of my known self, my core identity. Few professions are as all consuming. In fact, I started to write about what it is like to teach but realized the brevity of a blog post would never do it justice. And the point of this post is that I believe my time as a teacher has come to a close as well.

The secret to a long life is knowing when it is time to go. All signs point toward the exits. It is time to move on but also hard to let go. A lot harder than quitting a job. I want to leave with grace and gratitude. Before I jump the shark. It would be nice if I had a clear path ahead. But, I think this adventure requires a fool’s hope, a shot of bravado, and a faith in my inner compass. I’m curious. Let’s go.

Guru

by LuckyPilgrim, posted in Uncategorized
Coco and her bone
Guru Coco  Photo by John Hardwick

Little did I know when I met a six toed, scrappy little mongrel named Coco she would become my greatest teacher and best friend. Like most heroes, she came from inauspicious beginnings. Her mother escaped a fighting ring with bits of wire fence still embedded into her cuts. Coco’s Mama was so sick, wounded and starving, no one believed she could bring her pups to term, much less give birth to ten with eight survivors.

One of the smallest in her litter,  Coco still ran the lot of them. Bright, quick, and agile, her Kung fu was strong! Yet she was a sensitive, kindhearted Dom. A mush-pot. Already, I was learning from her.

On the long ride home I discovered the six toes. She had gnarly, dangerous dew claws in the back, dainty ones up front. The back pair needed removal before they caught on something and crippled her. We arranged to have them amputated when she was spayed and micro-chipped so that we only needed to sedate her once. Unfortunately the surgery proved more complicated than anticipated. Her temperature dropped on the table. The new technician assisting in the surgery  placed a hot water bottle on her side to bring it up. In her inexperience, she forgot to check the temperature. Coco was severely burned.

No human realized this until nearly a week later when her hair dropped out and her skin turned black. In the meantime, she forgave us the countless times that we must have caused her agony by lifting her and holding her in this area. As she forgave and continued to trust, so did we. The veterinarian and the vet tech both cried when they realized what had happened. They took full responsibility and gave her extra special care for the many months of her recovery.  Receiving and offering redemption, are there really any bigger lessons in this world we need to practice over and over?

Coco continues to teach me. Simple wisdom. Without words: Wake up happy. Stretch and shake. Eat. Sleep. Play. Walk. Comfort others. Give hugs. Only kiss the people who want them.  Take gently. Enthusiastically welcome. Love unconditionally. Trust. Except for squirrels. Squirrels are evil.

Get to know the sort of creature you are. Never be ashamed of your animal self. Not that I am advocating licking your privates in the middle of the living room rug. Or smelling the privates of others for the information therein. But I believe we were given this particular existence for a reason. These strengths and limitations are ours to explore. Enjoy your body and all it can do with a glad heart.

When all was said and done Coco was left with a nifty scar that looks much like a lightning bolt. Not unlike a certain Mr. Potter. She is “The chosen dog.”

This slideshow requires JavaScript.